Just Like That
by lit by twilight
Summary: Jonathan Crane reflects on his brief relationship with his psychology professor at Gotham University. AU, slash, OCCrane, WayneCrane


Title: Just Like That

Author: fallencadence

Rating: omg! This would be among the PG and PG-13's, I'm sure. ;

Pairings: OC (Psychology Professor!)/Crane, Wayne/Crane (Sorta..)

Summary: Jonathan Crane describes his somewhat brief relationship with his psychology professor at Gotham University. One-Shot. Not really all that angsty. 'N stuff.

Beta: Only my half-asleep friend at night, who took out three commas and added a space. So I guess its really going unbeta'd. Sorry. ; Though, you have been warned:o

Author's Notes: Okay, this is not only my first fic that I have the energy to post and the confidence in to share, but it's one of those ones that was written mostly for the interest of the authoress and shinrainc. (BLAME HER FOR THE IDEA THAT SHE DOESN'T KNOW SHE GAVE ME.) oo OMGAR, I PAIRED CRANE WITH AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER. I know. I feel the burn. So, I understand if you're not so interested in reading it, like I'd said.. mostly in my own interest. But there IS WAYNE/CRANE IN THE END. For like... Four lines or so. D: har har. I love you all.

---

We were really only together for a year, I would guess. A little less than that, even. But it was never something we really talked about. If someone had known, they would say that our relationship was a really on/off type of relationship.

But it wasn't like that.

He was a well-respected psychology professor, after all. And I was just one of his many students. I'm not saying that he slept with all of his students. And I am really beginning to think we had a connection of some sort, and that was why we did it. James Rinehart, Professor of Psychology at Gotham University. It was only a little bit into our affair that he confided in me he had truly believed he was a heterosexual, and never understood his own actions towards me. I wasn't sure why, but that always made me smile. Even if it did make me have second thoughts about how feminine I looked.

James had these chocolate brown eyes that were to die for; almost darker even than his brown hair. He was always wearing a suit and it made me laugh, though now that I see myself every morning, I can't laugh nearly as much. I would tease him and tell him that he always looked a bit too professional all the time because of it. Now I see how important it is to do so, and have even scolded myself on occasion for mocking the habit. Though that's not the subject at the moment, is it?

James would wear these half-moon glasses as well, and he told me they were for reading. Though I could tell that he was making an effort to see things when he wasn't wearing them. Even so, I never told him about it. It was a long time before I felt that I had the authority to do things like that. James and I never took our relationship -- affair, rather -- as if it were something to be proud of. We didn't think about it that way at the time, but now that I remember it, I think both of us were ashamed of the whole thing. I could see it in those chocolate brown eyes of his.

I could sometimes feel the hesitance in his kiss, right as his breath would hitch before our lips touched. Normally a person would see that as a good sign. You know? The kind of love, or feeling, that takes your breath away. But this was not that kind of kiss. It wasn't every time, but I could tell that he was afraid of something in each slight embrace we'd shared. Even if the two of us were alone in his apartment, he was still very nervous about something. I was never sure if it was me, or if it was the fear of losing his job, or if it was a fear of being discovered as a homosexual. And I never even asked.

We were at least twenty years apart in age. I admired him as a teacher, a mentor of mine. I would have never thought he was attracted to me; he was so good at hiding his emotions. Especially the ones he didn't like to admit he had. For a semester I hadn't thought anything of him in any other way besides professionally, but when rumors had begun that I was a homosexual -- because of something that someone had mentioned after I'd yelled at them in the library for something or another -- we really started to talk to one another.

"What's this rumor I've caught wind of?" Professor Rinehart had asked me as the class filed out of the room. He'd caught me by surprise as I was gathering my things to leave the room. I wanted to get out of there; I wanted to get back home as soon as possible. As I heard his voice behind me I was forced to turn my head towards him.

Both hands pressed against the hard oak of his desk, Professor Rinehart was leaning over towards me, an interested look on his face. It seemed like he really wanted to know.

"It's only a rumor." I said to him as his inquiring dark eyes caught my own. "I would think you much higher than to believe in childish things such as rumors."

"If there's anything you want to talk to me about, Jonathan, you know I'm here. Right?"

"I understand that it's your duty as a psychiatrist, Professor, but this rumor was only started because I'd upset someone. Thank you for your offer, though." I would have loved to talk to him then. I was much too full of myself, however, and believed that I could overcome any sort of psychological road bumps that lie ahead for me. It was my major, after all.

"You'd upset someone?" He asked. He wasn't going to let this rest, was he? "Are you getting bullied, Jonathan?" Though... it did seem like he was worried for me. I wasn't really used to that -- people worrying for me. I mean, sure, I'd watched everyone else worry for each other but it always struck me as a rather tedious behaviour that wasn't beneficial to either party.

"It's nothing I can't handle, I can assure you. Besides, it seems to have subsided since high school."

He smiled. One of his light, pleased smiles that he'd often had in the morning. I didn't know that then, obviously, but I would have been much happier with that look if I did. "Listen, Jonathan, if you'd like to... how can I say this? If you're interested, I would like to invite you over to my house for dinner. One professional to another."

I blinked. That was not the kind of request I was used to. What was I supposed to say? 'No, thank you, Professor... I'm actually a bit creeped out by the idea.' How obscenely rude. "W-well... I suppose I could. When?"

"If you're not comfortable, I'd understand --"

"No, no, it's not that. It's just an odd request. But I'm sure I would enjoy it."

I would swear I could see his face lighten, his eyes shine with that answer. He really was ridiculously nervous about that whole thing, and had I known what was going to happen, I suppose I would have been, too. "Great! Does tomorrow night work for you?"

"Of course. I'll meet you here." I struggled a bit with the books in my arms, but smiled pathetically up at him none the less. He adjusted his half-moons and nodded in agreement.

"I'll see you then."

---

It was the first time I'd ever slept with anyone, that evening.

We'd eaten dinner -- sitting at his small table in his rather small apartment, across from each other. I had no idea what to say to him, as the evening was beginning to seem more and more like a nightmare of a date. It wasn't a date. One professional to another, Professor Rinehart had said, and that was exactly what I chose to believe. Though that only lasted little over half the night.

As I was beginning to leave, and thanking him for the meal, he'd stood to help me to the door. He always caught me on my way out. "You seem a bit tense, Jonathan." He muttered as I reached for the doorknob. I shrugged.

"It's not that bad. My headaches are usually cured with an apple and some ibuprofen."

"Here," Professor Rinehart began, and before I really knew what'd happened he'd put his hands on my shoulders, close to my neck. I shivered on contact, swallowing as my eyes widened. "Stay for a little so I can relieve your tension, okay? If that's all right with you. It would be in your best interest." He laughed.

"Yeah, all right. I guess... I guess I could." I turned around, and Professor Rinehart was ushering me down the hallway and into his bedroom. He could tell I was hesitating, I'm sure. I figured I had all right to worry about this situation.

"It's easier, if you're sitting on my bed." He explained. "I really have no other furniture in my apartment if you couldn't tell." That smile. He was still wearing that smile. I should have been at least a small bit suspicious, I'm sure, but I trusted my psychology professor and I would let him drag me to the end of the Earth that night if that is what he'd wished.

As I took my seat on the edge of his bed, Professor Rinehart kneeled down in front of me and began to pull my sweater vest down around my shoulders. That really had me worried, and it was obvious in my eyes though I was almost paralyzed I managed to squeak out an exclamation of protest. Even that only made him laugh.

"I'm only exposing your shoulders so I can massage them. Though I should have asked first, huh?"

I was sure my face was completely flushed as I nodded rapidly in response and let my arms down from covering myself, and heaving out a soft sigh. Professor Rinehart circled around behind me, sitting down on what I suspected was his knees as his large hands went back up to my shoulders. His hands were cold against my flesh but at the moment, I really didn't mind.

I closed my eyes and he worked his hands at the kinks in my neck with ease, it seemed, and I was amazed. I think he heard the gasps coming from my mouth every once in a while, and he would have smiled, I bet. With every motion his hands made over the exposed portion of my skin I could feel my stomach turning in an odd way and it was only when I could swear I'd felt warm, wet lips press against my neck that my heart leapt up into my throat.

A million thoughts rushed through my head. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have stayed, and when he started to massage me I should have stood up and left. I had things to do, I had excuses, I had too many things I could have told him and too many other things to do with my life than to be sitting in my psychology professor's bedroom being touched and kissed and God knows what else was going to happen.

And then I heard his voice. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." He could tell that I had frozen under his touch and I had no idea what to say as I listened to him. "You.. you can leave if you'd like, I don't know what's wrong with me.."

What was I thinking? Was I ... desperate? Lonely? Or was I really that attracted to him? More thoughts, seething through my mind and I shook my head and turned. "No, its okay, Professor..."

"Jonathan, it's not okay, I shouldn't have --"

I will never be quite sure why I kissed him. It was a clumsy kiss, I almost knocked my teeth against his but I managed it, lips against lips and my hands gripping his shoulders as if it were he that were the cause for my inner confusion. My stomach had not nearly stopped its own turmoil and I felt as if I would throw up and I didn't care, and he pressed at my shoulders and in a moment's hesitation I realized he was pushing me away. "P-Professor..." I gasped, apologetically.

Chocolate eyes, confused. Scared, maybe? He glanced down at me; his hands were still on my shoulders. There was a very, very strange passion growing inside of me and try as I might to fight it away, I couldn't. Not with him staring at me like this. Looking so vulnerable, like I'd done something so astonishing that he could barely comprehend and I couldn't help but smile a weak and naive smile. "I've never done that before." Is all I said. Breathless. Surprised. Happy, even.

"I want to tell you that we can't, Jonathan, but the words just aren't coming out..." A worried smile. I was attracted to him. I did want him. If I was ever going to let myself be surrendered to anyone, it was going to be him and I loved it.

---

Our affair remained a secret for that year that we shared it, on and off, as we both showed up at each other's houses on occasions to make love or talk or just spend time together. It was amazing how much of that was the latter. We even went out to eat, on occasion, and though we wouldn't make anything of ourselves I could tell when James had intentionally touched my hand and given me a fleeting glance. I was rather happy with it, the way it was. Just the way it was.

I didn't really tell him anything about myself, and neither did he. We kept to ourselves most of the time and our talks consisted of our plans for the future and never anything to do with our past. Though the both of us knew even then that our plans for the future did not include each other and it didn't seem that either of us cared.

We cared for each other in a way that was not a devotedly romantic love, in a way that suggested we understood each other, embraced each other and slept with each other but had no intention of ever moving further. It was a time spent well, even if it was all spent secretly. I still believe that it was the first time I'd ever started to let myself open up to another human being, and when I think about it that way, even I can look back on it and smile.

---

"Am I making you jealous, Bruce?" Jonathan asked, an amused grin over his lips as he looked up at his lover, splayed across the billionaire's chest in an almost haphazardly manner.

"No, you're not. Besides, I'm the one that asked you to tell me something important about your past." Bruce was lying on his back, his arms behind his head and his hazel green eyes on the man across his body. "I'm not jealous."

"Really? Are you sure?" The doctor's blue eyes sparkled and he lifted himself to press his lips against Bruce's thinner ones.

"I am completely positive." Bruce gave an affirmatory nod in addition, shifting his weight after the smaller one had moved his own position. Jonathan reached down to pull up the white sheets of the billionaire's bed and cover himself with them, before resting his chin back on the elder's finely toned chest.

"Good. Then it's your turn."


End file.
